Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire. Элли Блейк
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wasn’t talking about the pie.
She’d spent an hour deciding what to wear, aiming for casual yet wanting to make him look twice. After five changes she’d finally decided on caramel suede trousers sitting low on her hips and a chocolate rib top that fitted like a second skin. The warm tones highlighted her hair and skin to perfection, or so some stylist had told her at Harrods.
In London, she’d taken her appearance for granted, spending a small fortune on clothes and accessories to fit the image of a top marketing consultant. She dressed to impress, was used to it. That was her excuse for wanting to look her best tonight. Yeah, right.
‘What’s for dinner?’
She headed for the stove in an attempt to escape Nick’s intense stare.
‘Antipasto for starters, home-made ravioli filled with asparagus and leeks, smothered in a four-cheese herb sauce for main.’
He picked up a ladle, lifted a pot lid and stirred, the delicious aroma of melted cheese and garlic filling the kitchen and making her mouth water.
‘You make your own pasta?’
She raised an eyebrow, beyond impressed. How did the guy find time to run a hotel, do stuff around the farm and be a whiz in the kitchen?
He cocked a hip and shrugged, deliciously smug and modest at the same time.
‘What can I say? I’m a regular Neil Perry.’
‘Who?’
‘Australia’s equivalent to Jamie Oliver,’ he said, sprinkling fresh chopped parsley into the pot, sending her a cheeky grin that notched up the heat in the kitchen.
Either that or she was taking a lot longer to acclimatise to the Jacaranda humidity than expected.
‘I’m impressed. Is there anything you can’t do?’
‘No, though I guess I’m better at some things than others.’
He winked and turned back to the stove, his attention riveted to the pot bubbling away while an embarrassing blush crept into her cheeks.
Oh, yeah, she remembered exactly how good he was at some things, which was why she grabbed the cutlery off the sideboard, trying to remember the difference between left and right as she struggled to place knives, forks and spoons in their right place.
She’d been insane to agree to his marriage proposal, absolutely stark, raving mad to think she could remain businesslike for the length of their marriage—yet another thing they had to decide tonight. For she was in little doubt this platonic union would have a time limit.
He’d asked as much earlier and she’d had no idea how to respond, didn’t want to think beyond this pitch and what she had to do to secure her promotion.
Marriage to Nick, a business deal. And business deals had set time frames, both parties aware of how long the proposed business would take right from the start.
So why the sudden pang in the vicinity of her heart?
Once the table was set, she picked up the pasta bowls and took them to the stove.
‘We’ve got a lot to talk about tonight.’
He held up a hand. ‘Not on an empty stomach. Let’s eat first.’
‘Fine with me.’
But it wasn’t fine, none of this was, and while they made polite small talk over his fabulous pasta she couldn’t forget the real reason she was here: to set the boundaries of their marriage.
An event she’d dreamed of ten years ago, had planned in her head to the nth degree: strolling towards her incredible groom under the shade of their favourite jacaranda tree down by the river, him in a casual suit with his shirt collar open, the wind ruffling his too-long-to-be-neat hair, her in a flowing ivory silk minidress made for strolling down by the river after she’d married the man of her dreams.
Somehow, the quick, impersonal ceremony in front of a minister they would now go through didn’t have the same ring to it.
There went her heart again, squeezing tight, hurting enough to show, no matter how much she pretended this was all business, she knew, deep down, she was selling her soul.
Nick tried not to stare at Brittany, he really did, but it was like trying not to look at the sun glistening on Jacaranda River first thing in the morning or the moon rising over a glittering Noosa at night.
Perfectly natural occurrences where a person’s gaze was riveted by beauty, unable to do otherwise and that was exactly how he felt now, taking in her slight frown, pursed lips and thoughtful expression as she tapped a pen against the pad in her hands.
‘We’re forgetting something,’ she said, screwing her eyes up as if trying to see the missing info.
From where he sat, the only thing forgotten was how damn good it felt to be with her like this.
‘Want me to take a look?’
‘Uh-huh,’ she answered absent-mindedly, not looking up from the pad. ‘I was sure we’d covered everything but…’
He perched on the couch next to her, grateful for the opportunity to get closer to the woman who was driving him slowly insane with every flutter of her mascaraed eyelashes, with every teasing smile.
Dinner had been a quiet affair and her genuine appreciation for his culinary skills made him feel like a god, yet the underlying tension with every glance, every smile, stretched taut between them.
While she looked amazing tonight, her fancy top and figure-hugging trousers outlining her body to perfection, a body that beckoned him to trace its contours, to feel every gorgeous line, it was more than that.
They’d slipped back into the comfortable camaraderie they used to share and he was thrilled. While he had no illusions about this marriage being anything other than what it was—a convenient business arrangement—it would be so much easier to be friends.
Or more than friends, if he was lucky. He wanted her just as badly now as he ever had, the driving hunger startling and ferocious and capable of sending him bonkers.
‘Are you going to help me or just sit there with that goofy look on your face?’
She waved the pen under his nose and he managed a rueful grin. He’d settle for goofy when, the way his thoughts had been heading, she would’ve been more accurate in describing him as drooling.
‘Let me take a look.’
He leaned towards her, a swift stab of longing shooting straight to his groin as a waft of her vanilla perfume hit him.
Vanilla: warm, sweet, tempting.
Exactly how he saw her. The same tantalising scent she’d worn that fateful night ten years ago, the night he’d told her there would never be anything between them.
He just wished he had the same self-control now, but with her inches away, looking like his living, breathing fantasy, a guy could only take so much.
‘This list has stuff for you to do and the stuff I can help with.’
She tapped her pen against the paper in a sharp staccato sound, an action fast becoming a nervous habit, and he struggled to focus on her writing, more intrigued by the streaks of blonde through her copper hair and the way they highlighted her beautiful face.
‘What’s missing?’
‘This.’
He tipped her chin up, drinking in her slightly flushed cheeks, her sparkling blue eyes, her glossed lips. Man, she was a stunner, and as a spark of desire flared in her eyes he knew this time he wouldn’t be satisfied with a few kisses.
As he moved towards her she stiffened and pulled away.
‘We need to concentrate. The sooner we get married, the sooner I can really get started on my work around here and the sooner I get